


Tired Thoughts of a Failure

by cadkitten



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety, Canonical Character Death, Depression, Gen, Help, M/M, Mental Anguish, Moving On, Panic Attacks, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-27 08:06:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13244046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadkitten/pseuds/cadkitten
Summary: Tim's lost in his own hell, Clark comes to the rescue.





	Tired Thoughts of a Failure

**Author's Note:**

> Past Tim/Kon  
> For my writing challenge #10 Rain.  
> Beta Readers: kate1zena

Tim stood atop one of the oldest buildings in Gotham, rain pelting down around him. It was shaping up to be the largest storm of the year; they were already at five inches of rainfall and counting with no signs of it letting up through the night. If the forecasts were right, it would be midday tomorrow before the rain turned to a drizzle and into the evening before it stopped completely. 

Reaching up, he pushed his hair back, water sliding from his hair and down the back of his suit. No amount of skin-tight protection could keep it all out with this amount and he was starting to feel the chill down in his bones. He'd been out here three hours already, searching the city desperately for something to step in on, someone to take down.

It happened to him at times, where he needed to be out here, had to be fixing something to feel like he was anything at all. Of all the nights for the world to start feeling like it was crushing in on him, tonight was not the one he would have picked. 

Closing his eyes, he tipped his head and let the rain fall heavily upon his face, every drop almost stinging as it landed, the perpetual sound of it hitting the rooftops and falling to streets down below into white noise that threatened to surround him. Hearing anything was becoming a challenge, though he supposed at least it masked his own movement just as much: a detriment and an advantage all in one.

His cape was heavy on his back, stuck to him in unpleasant ways and he found himself annoyed by the choice that had ended up having more to do with Batman than it ever had with Red Robin – an homage and one that was liable to get him killed at this point. 

Sighing, he wiped his hands over his face and a wrung them off, opening his eyes to look around him before he unfastened the catches on his cape and let it fall to the ground in a drenched pile. Crouching down, he did his best to roll it up and squeeze it out a bit, tying it off and then attaching the package it created across his back instead, securely inside the X of his belts.

Less drag, less danger.

Turning back to the ledge, he leaned on it, looking out over the side and feeling the roll of his emotions once again. The sensation of uselessness, the little voice in the back of his mind that informed him he was nothing without something to fix. His fingers flexed on the brick as the whispers in his mind grew, a cacophony of barbed and precisely pointed jabs stinging at his soul as they whipped past him.

_Useless. A failure. Remember what you said to Dick last week; the look on his face? Damian hates you; he's got to have a good reason. You're shit. Nothing. If you died would anyone really mourn you? All you can ever do is fuck things up. You have one job and sometimes you can't even do that one right. All you do at work is file fucking papers and last month, you put that one paper in Mr. Barber's office and you should have put it in Janet's file – remember that? God, how could you fuck up so badly on such an easy thing? You're a total piece of shit._

Tim took in a shaky breath and rolled his shoulders, biting back on the bitter anger that welled up around the anguished cries of his mind. He hated this part, hated not having enough to do in order to keep the voices at bay. If he had criminals to take out, things to mend, the voices were background noise, four doors away and only a whisper. When he didn't, they were there, up front and startling and blindingly aggressive. He shuddered, his fingers reaching for the controls to their police scanner and starting to flip through the channels, even the more private ones and the ones for Blüdhaven just in case he could find something _somewhere_ to do. 

Ten minutes and twenty channels later with almost no chatter, Tim found himself starting to tremble, his hands shaking and his heart beating rapidly in his chest. The sickly fingers of anxiety clawed at his stomach and his guts rumbled with it. Kneeling down, he pushed his hands into his hair, took in a shaky breath and then, desperately, "Why? Why this again? What did I do to deserve to live like this?"

He knew his heart rate would have been setting off the monitors if he'd not disconnected those long ago for this very reason. Knew he would have had every ally in a ten mile radius asking if he needed help. Squeezing his eyes shut again, he knelt there, head against the brick, fingers tight on the ledge as he shuddered violently, again and again, his thoughts rolling against one another, bringing up all the agony of the past few years all at once.

_He's dead. Dead because of you. Because of your incompetence and your decisions. I miss him so much, loved him like I've never ever loved another. Now he's gone, gone and there's nothing I can do. But you could have fixed it then. Could have told him, could have protected him, could have –_

He sucked in a breath and forced his mind off the one topic that usually left him three Xanax in and staring coldly at the blank white wall of his bathroom wishing he could die. This was not a topic for the field. Never had been. _Never_ would be.

_It's like a field day of incompetence with you, isn't it? First the damn paper, then your coworker dies under your command. Some leader you make. Failure in the office, failure in the field. You should just give. up. You can't make something of yourself no matter what you do. Try to learn how to do something dumb even like writing poetry and you stink at it. Couldn't even fix the computer in the cave last week without help. Shouldn't need help on that dumb shit, you fuck up._

Tim's heart pounded harder and he gasped in air when he realized he wasn't breathing. One fist hit the wall and he cried out, the sound a broken sob of anger and pain. The urge was there to keep doing it, do it until he was as useless as he felt: drained and broken and bloody and – 

He needed someone stronger than him. Someone who would almost overpower him and he'd take them out once they beat him back into his place. Desperate, he threw himself over the edge of the building, shot his grapple at the last second and slid down into the alley. He ran three blocks at top speed, until his lungs were splitting, until his heart was so frantic he'd have been afraid someone else was having a heart attack if he were seeing this on their readouts, until he could taste the bitterness of copper in his mouth. 

Skirting the corner, he realized where he was going a split second before he ran straight into what felt like a giant slab of iron. He bounced off and honestly saw white for a second before he went with his instinct to lash out before the familiar 'S' symbol stopped his hand just before making its mark. 

Swallowing thickly, he let his gaze travel up until he was staring up into Superman's face, saw the concern there and looked away, feeling nothing but ashamed. Was he really so bad that he'd attracted Superman's attention? 

_Pathetic. Can't even keep your crap to yourself._

His heart wrenched and he narrowly kept back the sob that threatened to spill from his lips. He choked on it, not breathing long enough that Clark started to reach for him and he jerked back, stumbled a few steps and bit out, "I'm _fine_."

_What a joke. Think he can't tell you're not?_

Around them, the rain still fell, the street standing with it, the noise of it coming down so hard that he'd likely not hear any reply Clark might have wanted to make. Swiping the rain from his hair again, Tim shifted impatiently, trying to hide away how he was feeling at the moment, knowing it was pointless. His hands still shook, his heart still skittered out of control, and try as he might, he couldn't actually catch his breath anymore.

Clark held out his hand and Tim stared at it for what had to feel like eternity to a man living on super-time before he finally took it and Clark drew him in, wrapped him in his cape and Tim could feel that they were moving, flying from the lack of ground under his feet. The rain stopped pelting them and the world grew less loud around him, which only served to ramp up the volume of his thoughts.

_Had to have a damn super come in and save you. What would he say if he knew you were thinking about how you got Kon killed? His own blood. You killed his own blood. Whatever he's here for, you know it's not what you deserve. His kindness isn't something you should take, not after what you did. And what about Dick? What about how you opened your big fat mouth and tried to tell him you're attracted to him? That's some fucked up shit. Ruining the memory of the person who thought the sun rose and set on you. You shouldn't ever have someone else, you know that. You deserve this. Deserve the pain, the thoughts like this, all of it. Honestly... you deserve to die._

Tim didn't realize he wasn't breathing right until Clark's hand pressed to his chest. There was ground beneath their feet now, a blanket around his shoulders, and he realized he'd zoned out into his own horrible world for a questionable period of time. Panting, he reached for the blanket, held it tightly and just stared up at Clark, mutely shaking his head.

_I don't deserve this. Don't deserve kindness from him of all people. I haven't made up for enough to deserve this. Don't think I ever can._

Clark took Tim's hand, tugged off his glove and placed a small blue pill in his palm. 

For a moment, Tim just stared at it dumbly and then it dawned on him that of course someone had told Clark about his issues, about how he needed to take these stupid pills sometimes. About how fucked up and useless he was and – 

Tim tossed the pill in his mouth, worked up enough spit to swallow it with and made a face at the bitter taste of it going down, at the lingering way it made his mouth taste like he'd been sucking on a penny.

"Talk to me."

Tim stared at Clark, couldn't bring himself to say anything he wanted or needed to. He wanted to tell him all about how he'd gotten Kon killed, about how it was his fault, his orders, his everything. Kon had been his responsibility and he'd failed. Again and again, all he did was fail.

He opened his mouth, unsure what to say and stood there in surprise when what did come out was, "I think I need mental help."

Clark made a little sound in the back of his throat, neither one of confirmation or denial and reached for his other hand, pulling that glove free as well. 

"Right now I think we need to get you in dry clothing."

"Don't deserve it." Tim winced as that came out, clamping his mouth shut and cowering back from Clark the instant he reached for him. He squeezed his eyes shut, felt his heart rate spike again and he heard the quiet, "Oh... oh Tim," that sounded so distraught.

"Can you come with me? Please?"

Forcing his eyes open, he stared at Clark while the words processed and then nodded, following behind him and into another room. Finally he recognized the place, one of Dick's safe houses and he relaxed a little, understanding Clark had brought him to the one with the least amount of cameras and monitoring equipment, probably for a reason. To keep his breakdown private, presumably.

Standing in the middle of the room, he stared at Clark as he went through the dressers and then the closet, came up with a pair of yoga pants, a still packaged pair of briefs, and a t-shirt that looked like Dick may have kept it since he was Robin given it might have had a prayer not to swallow Tim whole.

He dropped the blanket and after a moment of blankly staring at the ground, he began to strip, heedless of the fact that Clark was in the room until a soft towel was being folded around his naked form, Clark's hands barely there at all. 

_So pathetic you can't even figure out you should probably have been changing in the damn bathroom. He doesn't want to see this anymore than Dick wants to. Stupid idiot._

He let out a little choked sound, a sob he tried to hold back so desperately it came out more agonized than the sob itself would have. 

"Please talk to me. Tell me what's going on, what are you thinking?"

Tim shook his head, crawling on the bed and ripping open the package with the briefs in it, fumbling around until he was yanking them on under the towel, angry at himself now. 

_Showing yourself off like there's anything to fucking show. God, I mean think about it. You undress in front of him like you could even compare. Scrawny piece of shit in comparison. Scrawny piece of shit who got his damn clone killed._

This time the tears were hot down his cheeks as he all but ripped at the yoga pants, trying to get them on and failing against his still damp skin.

Clark's hands settled on Tim's.

"Hey... focus on me for a second. Please?"

Tim stilled, his heart railing in his chest, a steady buzz of horror in his gut. 

"Think of one of the breathing exercises Bruce taught you. Use it for me."

Tim thought about it for a second and then closed his eyes, started trying to center himself though he kept getting jerked right back out of it with his thoughts pulling him a million different directions. 

"May I help you get dressed?"

Tim slumped a little and for a second he just felt tired, incredibly tired. The medication was starting to kick in and he could work his mind around the tiny bit of the world that made sense. He gave a single nod and felt Clark start to gently guide his feet and legs into the pants, tugged them up his thighs and then helped him stand up to get them all the way up. 

The towel moved over his skin, drying him from the waist up and then he was being helped into the t-shirt and before he knew it he was back on the bed, between Clark's thighs as he carefully went about drying his hair. 

"Take off your mask for me."

Tim's fingers still trembled but he managed to get it off and set it on the dresser, slumping back against Clark's broad chest once he had. Strong arms slid around his middle, cradling him close and Tim shifted, turning slightly so he could put one hand on his chest and burrow his face against him. He smelled like rain and ozone and something that had always been distinctly Clark. 

Tim shivered and took in a shaky breath. 

"I failed him... failed as a leader, as a friend, as his damn lover. And now I disgrace him by wanting someone else, someone who doesn't even want me back. I'm the worst kind of fuck-up and if I had half the guts to do it, I'd find the death I deserve for it."

Clark's arms tightened around him and Tim closed his eyes at the feeling of Clark's mouth against his hair, his breath tickling against his scalp. 

"You didn't fail him, Tim. I know it feels that way and I can see how you'd draw those lines, but your actions didn't lead to his. What happened to him wasn't your fault." Clark's hand pushed through his hair. "It would have pained him to see you like this. He'd never have wanted you to see yourself as a failure because of it."

Swallowing, Tim shook his head a little. "I feel like one anyway. I can't even get paperwork right sometimes, Clark... if I can't do that how am I supposed to go back and lead them? I should quit... should quit everything, should – "

"Hey..." Clark's gentle voice cut him off and Tim sniffed instead of continuing, shivered violently and tipped his head back trying not to let his tears fall.

"You are a brilliant young man, your own mentor has called you a better detective than him several times. Your IQ is off the charts and you're powerful in ways you don't seem to see. I've heard you say you can't punch as hard, can't take down people one-on-one as easily as others, you see all of this as a failure. But, Tim, you can take them down without ever having to be there, can see a crime and stop it before it's been committed. You're faster at deducting things than I am and I have super speed. Your mind works on a whole other level that I can't even contemplate. Your strengths aren't in the same places, but so what? It doesn't mean you're a failure. Don't compare yourself to someone else, especially when they're super powered."

"Doesn't change the fact that no one wants me. That I fucked up and lost Kon and now I fucked up and pushed Dick away by telling him how I felt. What next? Who do I tell something to I shouldn't and push away next? You? Bruce? Hell maybe I should just piss Damian off a bit more and then we'd all be done with me!"

Clark reached out and framed Tim's face with his hands, gently moved his fingers over Tim's soft skin and then leaned in and kissed his forehead, the tender press of his lips surprising enough that Tim quieted. 

"Talk to me about Dick. What happened?"

Tim swallowed against the immediate lump in his throat, his eyelids falling most of the way shut as the fresh sting of rejection filtered through him. 

"You don't want to hear this. Just like he didn't." Tim shook his head, squeezed his eyes the rest of the way shut in some hope of cutting off the tears that burned at his eyes. He hated this part of the medication, the part where it forced him to give in to such weakness, to want to curl up and bawl until he got it all out. His breath hiccupped and he forced himself to shiver instead of crying, pulled back and wrapped his arms around himself, fingertips digging into his own skin with bruising pressure.

"If I didn't want to hear what you had to say, I wouldn't be here and I wouldn't have asked." Clark's voice was tender, patient, all the things Tim knew he didn't truly deserve right then and it made him tremble even more.

Hunching over, he did his best to feel even smaller than he was, hoping it might make him disappear before he managed to open his mouth again. 

The seconds ticked by and eventually he exhaled, tipping his head back and opening his eyes to stare up at the water-stained ceiling. "I guess we've just been closer – or at least I thought we were – these past few years since..." he winced, "since, you know." The lump grew until he couldn't talk, until the harsh burn of tears jabbed at his throat and he shuddered as two hot tears escaped to run down his cheeks. "It just felt like we were, you know? Like maybe there was something else there, something I felt at ease with. I've always been a little attracted to him, I mean... look at him. Difficult not to be."

Swallowing again, Tim shook his head. "I'm just a damn fool though, as usual. Thought I found the perfect moment. He's between people right now, hasn't been talking about anyone like he's interested so I thought maybe I'd have a chance." He let out a humorless bark of a laugh, bitterness at himself drawing up inside him again. "Opened my mouth and stuck my whole damn leg in it is what I did. Never been rejected quite like that before either, though I guess I deserved it."

"Why? Why would you deserve to be rejected?"

Tim shifted enough to give Clark an incredulous sort of look, shaking his head a little. "It's like no one can see it. Maybe I hide it just enough, I don't know. It's like none of you can truly see the fuck-up I am until I shove it right in your face." _Or get them killed because of it._

Tim shuddered hard at the return of the voice, his breath hitching. 

"Guess I shoved it real hard in Dick's face the other night."

"Tell me what actually happened?"

Tim sighed, reaching up to push his hand through his still-damp hair. "Went for broke. I'm just so lonely... have been since he died. I sleep better when someone's there, live better when someone can see the train wreck starting so I can try to stop it. And he's just so..." Tim shook his head, squeezing his eyes closed again, feeling another set of tears track down his cheeks, "so kind and loving and beautiful. I just thought... I thought maybe he might think I was worth enough to be in his bed even once."

His heart clenched in his chest, searing agony radiating outward from it as his throat closed up again and he trembled with the intensity of it.

Clark's hand landed on his own, thumb gently stroking. "What happened when you told him?"

"I-" Tim shivered hard and gasped in a little too much air before regulating it at least slightly better. "I didn't exactly tell him."

"Oh?"

Tim took his hand back, cradling it and opening his eyes to stare down at it, his other hand trailing over the remaining warmth. It felt so nice to be touched, to have someone's warmth, but he just couldn't reconcile it with him being allowed to have it. 

Pursing his lips, he took a few deliberate breaths and then shrugged. "I went for broke. With me, no one is ever going to want something lasting. I'm not enough for that, never will be. I'm just a burden on whomever I'm with and at this point, pretty much a death sentence to be around for too long. So I just thought maybe I could have one night. One time to feel something that wasn't _this_ again. That maybe... I could remember who I used to be."

"So you hit on him?"

"I kissed him."

Clark let out a quiet hum, his hand landing on Tim's knee and squeezing slightly. "What did he do?"

"Stepped back from it and kept me at arm's length... literally."

"And what did he say?"

"Asked me what was going on. Looked sort of like I'd gutted him, really. I may as well have stabbed a knife in him for as thrilled as he looked about it." Tim curled in on himself further, staring at Clark's hand now. "I just thought we were connecting really well. I mean it's been months now of us getting closer and closer, sharing things we don't tell other people, and we were by his door, close already, and it just seemed like the time to try."

Tears threatened again and Tim let out a strangled, irritable sound. "Hate this feeling so much. It's like I'm helplessly drowning in disgusting tears!"

Clark's fingers squeezed slightly and Tim's heart hammered in his chest, every irrational thought flooding in at once.

_Why don't you just be a dumbass and go for broke with him, too? I mean it'd be just as big of a disgrace, right? Fucked up bullshit way to deal with Kon's death. You should still be mourning him and here you are wanting to be a fucking slut instead. Someone should put you out of your misery since you're too fucked up to do it your damn self._

Tim shoved his hands against his face and gasped for every breath until his heart was hammering in his chest again. Wrenching himself up from the bed, he all but threw himself toward the hallway, stumbling until he found the bathroom mostly by accident. Falling into the little shower stall, he slid down the wall and kicked his foot out, slamming the frosted glass door shut and cowered there, sobs wracking his entire body now, tears streaming down his face as he muttered to himself. 

"Such a fuck-up. All you do is mess things up. Mess up being friends with Dick and now this," he hiccupped hard enough he felt the bile rise in his throat and began swallowing urgently to fight it. A few choked sounds and finally a low wail before he was up, scrambling out of the shower and yanking open drawers, spilling useless contents across the floor. Gauze and tape and antiseptic. An aspirin bottle rolled under the cabinets as he yanked open another drawer finding only toilet paper and neatly folded towels. "Can't even find the damn tools to fix it all with, can you?"

With a shout he yanked a drawer completely out and hurled the contents across the room, listening to the clatter and then letting the drawer fall to the ground. He dissolved in the middle of it all, shaking so bad his vision was blurring when he felt Clark's arms around him, hauling him out of the floor and carrying him back to the bedroom. 

"Tim... I need you to focus on me, please?"

He tried to make Clark's face stop swimming, finally managed it after a few seconds and nodded.

"Did Dick outright reject you?"

Tim managed to choke out, "N-not with words..."

"What did you do afterward?"

"Left. I left! What the hell else could I do?!"

"Hey... breathe for me. C'mon..." Clark rested a soothing hand against his cheek and Tim turned into it, shoved his face against it and lay there panting, Clark's hand cutting off most of his oxygen supply, making things easier as far as he was concerned for the moment and Clark simply let him exist. 

"It may have just been left field for him... he's not exactly quick on the uptake at times."

"How would you kn – " he cut himself off and shoved his face harder against Clark's hand, his mind screaming that of course Clark would know. He could hear most of it if he damn well wanted to.

"He gets hit on quite a lot and either he's willfully ignorant of it or he's just downright oblivious most of the time. How does the idea of someone else asking him how he felt about it sound to you?"

Tim shrugged a little, managed to back off from Clark's hand just enough to take reasonable breaths and not feel like he was going to break his nose by pushing so hard. 

"Don't care," he muttered.

Reaching up, Clark pushed his hand through Tim's hair. "I'm going to sit on the bed again and you're going to lean on me again. I think that was nice for both of us, yes?"

Tim gave a feeble nod and Clark shifted, settling on the bed a moment later and then hauling Tim up against him again, settling him so he resting with his side against Clark, right where he could push his face against his chest again, his hand clinging to Clark's costume. 

"Why do you put up with me?"

"I don't consider it to be putting up with... but I do this because I care about all of you. You'd go to a friend in need, would you not?"

"Yeah..."

"Today, you're my friend in need, so I came to you."

Above him, Tim could hear Clark clicking buttons on his phone, the steady tap of his fingers on the Blackberry putting Tim in mind of how incredibly slow it must feel to type something out when he could literally get there and say it faster than he could type half the words. The thought left him slightly less anguished and a teensy bit more amused than he'd been a second before.

The phone vibrated and Clark hummed, the process repeating itself a few times before he held the phone down where Tim could see. "You should read this."

**Can I ask you something?**

**Sure, ask away.**

**Tim says he came onto you the other night and I'm being nosy. What happened?**

**Oh boy... well, I think I messed up on a cosmic scale, that's what. Pretty sure you're not supposed to pull away from someone you actually /want/ kissing you, you know?**

**You wanted him to?**

**Uh... yeah? Who wouldn't want him kissing them? Never mind, dumb question. An idiot. A complete and total idiot wouldn't want to kiss him, everyone else would.**

**I think even an idiot could probably see he's worth kissing.**

**Good point. So... basically I fucked up and I have no idea how to repair it. He won't call me back and he's not been home since then. The tracker in his suit's been turned off for months and I can't even figure out what part of the city he's working in.**

**So assuming I could pass on a message, what would you tell him?**

**That I'm sorry. I never meant to come across the way I did. I was just shocked. I mean, I didn't think he wanted me like that and then he's kissing me and all I could think was what if we'd had too much to drink? What if he regretted this in the morning and I did something really fucking dumb? I panicked and I'm so sorry. Just... maybe... if he'd give me another chance, then I'd make it right.**

Tim stared down at the phone, at the last message from Dick and thumbed out a message and sent it before shoving the phone back at Clark and pushing his face against Clark's shoulder again.

**No one wants a screw up like me. Run away while you can, Dick.**

The phone started ringing and Tim shoved his face harder against Clark's chest, squeezing his eyes shut like that would make it stop. 

Dick's voice came through the air a second later.

"Tim... oh God, Tim. _Please_ , you're not a screw up, please don't think that. You're smart and sexy and the things you think up in that wonderful mind of yours... it'd be amazing being the subject of those thoughts. Just give me one more chance, please?"

Tim was quiet for a moment, just sat there, curled up against Clark's chest, still trembling with his tears and he finally pushed his head against Clark's neck and nodded, whispering, "Okay... I need to try."

"Tim?" Dick's voice came across the line, worried, pitched slightly higher than usual and Tim turned his head, stared at the phone and managed to make his voice work just the slightest bit more. "Okay."

Clark's breath came against his ear, the barest whisper of, "Do you want to go to him now?"

Tim gave a tiny nod and Clark cleared his throat. "Are you out or back in for the evening?"

"Just got to a safe house actually... took a knife to the leg so I came in to patch up. Not bad, just annoying."

"I'm bringing Tim to you then. If I may make a suggestion... stay in for tonight."

"Understood. Alarms are off, got a fix on me or do you need an address?"

"I'll take him to you in about twenty. I know where you are."

The line cut and Clark gently cupped Tim's cheek. "Go spruce up for him. Don't worry about the state of the bathroom, I'll put it back when you're done. You good?"

Tim managed a small nod. "Hot shower... might help. If... if I start this again, come get me out?"

"Always."

Tim pushed himself up and headed for the door, paused for a moment and studied Clark, studied the savior he never predicted he'd have, and for a moment, he allowed himself to exist in a moment of pure gratefulness.

Everyone needed their rock. Sometimes it was just more literal than others.


End file.
